


Harriet Potter & The Unexpected Consequences of Bridge Building

by Gold_Vermillion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU where Draco and Harry are cis women, All other characters are the same gender as canon, F/F, Post-Hogwarts, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 12:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21475789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gold_Vermillion/pseuds/Gold_Vermillion
Summary: Three weeks post NEWTs and Life is Bad. Harri has made exceptionally poor career choices, fallen out with her friends and split up with her girlfriend AND she is stuck on a team-building course with Draca Melfoy…
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, aka Draca Malfoy/Harriet Potter
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, for a while now I have been on the lookout for some smutty fiction that I like as much as some of the Darry stuff I've read, but that included vulva. I haven't been able to find any I particularly like, so I thought I would write some. (Don't get me wrong here, I have no objection to cocks - they're just not the only genitals I appreciate appearing in my erotica. I'm not greedy, I just like a lot. Yep I really am that shallow on occasion - deal with it.)
> 
> This doesn't have a lot of plot, it is mostly some smut with quite a lot of back-story. Although I did enjoy how changing the main character's gender affected the way I viewed them, or more to the point, that it didn't really change how I viewed them - that aspect of writing this was fun. 
> 
> I am intending to add some more to this at some point - but it works as a stand-alone as it currently is.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Important Note:  
Through posting here I in no way endorse trans exclusionary comments made by JKR or anyone else.  
Trans women are women. Trans men are men. Nonbinary people are nonbinary.  
And you, Dear Reader, wherever you fall on the many glorious spectrums of humanity, your identity is valid, your life matters, and so do your human rights – this is especially true if anyone in power is saying (or implying) otherwise.  
Love you all,  
Gold Vermillion  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was a pity really, that Harri hadn’t planned to make as bigger balls-up of her life post-NEWTs as possible, because she appeared to have found a hidden talent for it: Barely three weeks had passed since her final exam, and she had already made a poor career choice _and _ostracized three of her closest friends, and Harri didn’t even _have _that many close friends to ostracize - Not since so many of them had died during the war. Maybe Harri should pretend she _had _planned the balls-up after all, so as to look less pathetic. Or maybe she could blame Voldemort. That was another enticing possibility: After all, this was all Voldemort’s fault, really, if you thought about it rationally. If he hadn’t forced Harri into unnecessary heroics and living through killing curses, before he himself fucking died after all she’d done was cast an _expelliamus _\- for fuck’s sake - then Harri wouldn’t be in this mess. Because, if it wasn’t for the killing-Voldemort-thing, the Aurors would not have offered Harri a place in Auror training. OK, Harri had worked quite hard in Eighth Year, which had been unwise, and got four ‘O’s in her NEWTs, which had been embarrassing. And Ron, typically, had not worked hard and had instead basked in his new-found fame and banked on cribbing off Hermione. Who he had, typically, had a huge fight with the week before their exams, which resulted in her refusing him access to her notes, which had resulted in Ron getting no ‘O’s in _his _exams at all, which had been mortifying. Harri had accepted her place as an Auror trainee before she had realised the offer had not been extended to Ron. This had been her second big mistake. Her first big mistake had been breaking up with Ginny. 

Although, to be honest, the break-up had always been going to happen sometime. But she still had handled it very badly; in hindsight, she should have at least waited until after they had finished their NEWTs. Harri had _intended _to wait until after they had sat their NEWTs, but Ginny had been talking about renting a flat together, and had even started looking for one, and Harri had tried to be gentle when she told her she didn’t want to move in together, but tact had never been Harri’s strong suit. One thing led to another, which led to a fight, and Harri let slip more of her reservations about their relationship than she had intended. So, technically it had been Ginny who had broken up with Harri right before the two of them sat the most important set of exams in their life to date, but Harri wasn’t kidding herself. The break-up had been Harri’s fault and she knew it. 

So now Ron wasn’t talking to Harri, because he was angry with her about Ginny and because he was smarting about Harri being accepted into Auror training while he had only been offered a place in a preparatory course, that should eventually lead to Auror training, all going well. Apparently, Ron’s bad marks were also Harri’s fault, because she had distracted him. Not that it had stopped Ron being mad at Hermione for withholding her notes - they still weren’t talking to each other. Hermione wasn’t talking Harri either, because Harri was tactless with Gin right before their exams, and because Harri still refused to admit she had issues around being emotionally unavailable (something Hermione was adamantly sure of with a mad fervour she usually reserved only for S.P.E.W.), _and _because Harri was also fighting with Ron and Hermione was the only one aloud to do that, apparently. So, no one was talking to anyone, and the Summer so far had been Just Grand.

To top everything off, after barely two weeks break, Harri was back at school. If you had told Harri two years ago that she would ever resent being at Hogwarts, she would have said you were barking mad. But here she was, at the wretched MoM introductory and team building course, feeling out of place and itchy in her own skin in the only place that has ever felt like home. It was surreal and Harri hated it. 

Eighth year had been bad enough. After a year of fending for themselves on the run, it had come as a shock to Harri, Ron and Hermione that, despite having taken down the most evil wizard Britain had produced in the last 500 years almost unaided, they were not considered capable of managing themselves without teacher supervision outside of their common room after nine pm. They were also not allowed to take Merlin's name in vain, unless they really wanted a detention, and they definitely were not considered old enough to shag. Not that there'd been any shagging the year they'd been on the run - they’d all been a bit too preoccupied at the time, to be honest - but it was the principal of the thing. Harri had to suffer the indignity of the school insisting she and Ginny use separate dormitories, which were warded in order to keep the other out, despite them both being of age _and _in the same classes. It was a stunning combination of lack of freedom compounded with a marked lack of trust and it had been embarrassing. All things considered, Harri could have done with a longer break away from the castle, even if technically she was here as an adult and allowed to swear to her heart’s content without fear of becoming intimately acquainted with the insides of the hospital wing’s dirty bed pans.

The Hogwarts castle felt strange without the usual clatter and hubbub caused by too many teenagers. Harri groused and grumped her way up to Gryffindor Tower on autopilot. Technically, as part of the team-building spirit of the event, ex-Hogwarts students were supposed to sleep in houses other than the ones they had been in at school. However, Harri was the _Daily Prophet_ professed saviour of the Wizarding World, and although she usually didn’t take advantage of the leverage this gave her, the grim prospect of being forced into sleeping for a month in Ravenclaw dormitory (or worse) had caused her to make an exception. The fussy witch at reception, who had been handing out lanyards and magical name tags, hadn’t been particularly impressed, but in the end she had yielded. However, by way of compensation, to ensure that Harri’s life was as miserable as humanly possible, she had insisted that she dorm with…

“Malfoy?” Harri rounded the final corner to see Draca Malfoy, eyes locked with the Fat Lady. Both were wearing matching expressions of aloof disdain, mixed with equal measures of boredom and disgust. Malfoy turned, “Harriet Potter,” she said, acknowledging Harri’s outburst by slightly cocking an eyebrow, “what a pleasant surprise. The Fat Lady and I were having a charming conversation just now, would you care to join us?”

“Have you forgotten the password?”

“Hardly. I remember it perfectly. However, this charlatan of a portrait still refuses to let me in.”

The Fat Lady scowled at Malfoy, “Do you know how many portraits were destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts?” the Fat Lady hissed. 

Malfoy gave her a cool stare. “None were damaged by me, or on my account,” she said evenly.

The Fat Lady looked like she was about to say something cutting, but Harri stepped forward, “Spattergroit.” The Fat Lady scowled at her, but swung open to allow her in. Harri gestured to Malfoy, who nodded curtly and climbed through the portrait hole. 

Once inside the common room, Draca didn't seem to know what to do with herself. She stood in a corner near the door, grasping her elbows and surveying the room. With her platinum blonde bobbed hair and slinky dark green formal robes, she almost looked pretty. Infamy and failure had done Malfoy the world of good, in Harri's personal opinion. She leered far less now, and never threatened to set her father loose on anyone. Humility suited her and, although Harri still preferred to avoid Malfoy if at all possible, Eighth Year had mellowed her to the point where she was almost tolerable.

"Are you going to be a good hostess and show me around, or will I have to work out the guided tour myself?" Draca quipped, giving Harri a sidelong glare.

"Not much to show, really.” Harri shrugged, “The corridor to girls’ dorms is the one on the left and there's loos and showers on every second floor. The rest you can see." She gestured widely toward the empty common room. “Much the same as the Slytherin common room really, except our decor is more comfortable and there's less water."

Draca started slightly, “You’ve been in our common room?”

Harri looked a bit sheepish. She had been, but the visit had principally been so she could spy on Draca.

Draca gave a hollow laugh, “Of course you have. The Great Harriet Potter has been everywhere, private or otherwise. I suppose the next thing you’ll tell me that you have been in our Gringotts vault as well.”

“No, it was Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault we broke into. We never went near the Malfoy one.” 

“What a comfort,” said Malfoy, dryly. “Do you think the blockheads organising this farce will make us share the same dorm room as well? Or will they give us the dignity of separate bedrooms, considering there should be enough space?”

Harri shrugged again, “No idea. Do you want to go have a look where they’ve put our stuff?”

Malfoy nodded stiffly and the two of them moved towards the left hand corridor. 

“How come you ended up here, by the way?” Malfoy shot Harri a quizzical look, “I thought we were all supposed to be in different House dorms to the ones we had at school.”

“I’m sleeping with the office lady in charge of allocating the rooms,” said Harri, deadpan, not missing a beat.

“What, sourpuss Agatha? You must be desperate. Just don’t bring her back here, alright. Sharing a dorm with Daphne already scared me for life.”

“You two were sweethearts, were you?”

Draca choked, “Salazar, NO. I was definitely not her type. Something to do with having a snatch and no cock, if you catch my drift.”

“Difficult not to. How’d she manage to get the blokes into your dorm, though?”

“Ahm. Potter, there’s this thing called a staircase. You should really look into it sometime.”

“You mean people with penises can get up the stairs to the girls’ dorms in Slytherin?”

Malfoy stopped dead and gave her a very peculiar look. “Potter, it may have escaped your notice, but in the wizarding world people usually go upstairs using their _feet_.”

“And here I was, bouncing up them on my clit all this time,” Harri rolled her eyes. “The Gryffindor girls staircase turns into a slide if the lads try to climb it.”

“Oooh, how vulgar. How do the poor things manage illicit trysts with that kind of set up?”

“I think they usually have them in the boys dorms. Their staircases work just fine, so I’m told. I wouldn’t know, penises aren’t really my thing. Well, not on blokes, anyway. Trans women are hot, but there weren’t any in our year. Or, at least, there weren’t any who were out. Malfoy, are you alright?”

Malfoy was making the funny, gugly choky sound again, and had gone an odd, blotchy pink colour.

“I’m fine,” she said squeakily, “please, carry on.” 

Harri gave her a long, judgemental stair. Trust Malfoy to be a prejudiced git. Who was she kidding, Malfoy had _always _been a prejudiced git - she just had never come across these particular biases. However, Harri had to share a living space with her, and Malfoy seemed to at least be trying not to be such a wanker, so perhaps this was an argument to save for a later date. Harri turned and continued to stand in the door of the first dormitory. 

“Bugger. We’re in the same dorm.”

“Are you sure?” Draca came up quickly behind her, she had returned to a normal colour.

“Well, that’s your stuff, isn’t it?” Harri gestured to a large pile of luggage at the second four poster bed in the room, the one that didn’t have Harri’s chest at its foot. 

“So it would appear.” Malfoy stalked into the room with an air of resignation. “If you bring the awful Agatha up here, I will hex your labia together, I swear.”

“Hmm, kinky.”

“I promise you Potter,” said Malfoy with a dark look, picking up a night bag from the top of her luggage pile, “it is really not.” She sat on the bed clutching her night bag to her and closed the curtains with a flick of her wand. This was followed by a particularly impenetrable silencing charm. 

“Planning on having a good wank, are we?” said Harri, addressing the bed curtain. There was a stony silence. Harri shrugged and silently summoned her night things out of her old school chest. She supposed, all things considered, the evening could have gone a lot worse. 

o-O-o

“Potter, it’s seven in the morning.”

Harri looked up blearily form sprinkling a large amount of sugar over her porridge, to see that Draca had finally dragged herself out of bed. She was slumped opposite Harri, elbows propped un-aristocratically on the table, platinum-blond hair tousled, and still wearing her night things under a green dressing gown, despite them being seated in the great hall. 

“It’s seven in the morning, Potter,” Draca continued in a whine, “and we are the only ones up. Merlin and Morgana, why me?!”

Harri looked back at her breakfast, pouring milk over it and poking it experimentally with her spoon. Seven was a bit on the early side for her, too, if she was honest. _And _they did appear to be the only ones who had been required to rise at the crack of dawn. If Draca hadn’t been whinging insufferably, Harri would have been tempted to complain as well. As it was, she shrugged stoically and said “We’re working on individualized assignments today in our Dorm pairs. Presumably, our task requires an earlier start to everyone else's.”

“Your girlfriend hates me,” said Draca darkly, pouring herself orange juice and prodding around in the assortment of breads. Coming up trumps with a _pain au chocolat_, Draca sat back smugly and nibbled at one corner.

“I think hate’s a bit strong,” said Harri, surprised, “although I don’t suppose that Ginny exactly _likes _you. But I don’t see why this is relevant - she’s not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up.”

Draca gave Harri a long look, of the type reserved for the especially moronic. 

“_No_, Potter, you don’t _say_! Why haven’t I heard about your exciting single status in the papers?”

Harri blushed. Some unkind person had leaked her and Ginny’s break-up to the press within hours of it occurring. The _Prophet _had run it as front-page news the next day and bloody _Witch Weekly_ still wouldn’t shut up about it. Of course, Draca knew that she and Ginny had broken up. 

“I was obviously referring to your current fling, the lovely Agatha the Accounts Avenger,” said Draca sweetly, sipping her orange juice. “You know, the one who told us we had to be up early?” 

“Oh, right. Her. I forgot I let slip about our sordid love affair,” said Harri lightly and then, with a sudden note of panic, “you do know I was kidding, right?”

Draca gave her another long look.

“Just, I don’t want it in the papers, or anything,” Harri explained plaintively. “Agatha would be upset.”

“Yes,” said Draca dryly, “I’m sure it would be a huge trial to her to be the rumoured _paramour _of the most desirable bachelorette in the wizarding world. It would completely ruin her reputation as a sourpuss; her love life might never recover. Tea?” Draca gestured to the large pot between them, Harri nodded mutely, wondering how the conversation had managed to get this weird this early in the day. Draca poured them both tea, Harri agreeing to milk but not the large amount of sugar Draca added to her own.

“But don’t worry, sweetheart,” Draca continued, sipping her tea daintily, “your secret is safe with me. Not that I wouldn’t sell you out to the papers, obviously. But rest assured that no one would believe what I had to say if I tried. Information from Death Eater Scum like myself has recently gone quite out of vogue, you see.”

“Right,” said Harri. This conversation wasn’t getting any less weird. “Has anyone told you what we’re supposed to be doing today, then?”

“No, not at all. You?”

Harri shook her head. Just then there was a puff of pink-and-purple smoke and a scroll appeared.

“Ooh lovely,” said Draca, catching it, “instructions.” She flicked the scroll open and read, expression becoming more earnest as she went on. Finally, she loosely rolled it shut again and passed it mutely to Harri, who shook open the parchment and read with some trepidation. 

“I have to take you clothes shopping?!”

“In a muggle shop, that’s right. The Ministry must not think I own any muggle apparel. But do carry on, it gets better.”

“You own muggle apparel?!”

Draca rolled her eyes and made a circling motion with one hand to indicate that Harri should keep reading. 

“You have to take _me _clothes shopping?! But the ministry must know I already have formal robes,” Harri frowned.

“You do?”

“Draca, you’ve seen me in formal robes.”

Draca coughed and attempted to look coy, “That was rather my point.”

“Oh, don’t be a bitch,” said Harri rolling her eyes.

“But I do it so well. Do continue reading, however. You haven’t come to the best part yet.”

Harri read the next couple of sentences and made a choking, spluttery sound. 

Draca leant on one elbow and fluttered her eyelashes, “Found the bit where I get to introduce you to Mummy and Daddy while they’re under house arrest, have you?”

“Er…” said Harri, wildly trying to think straight while processing that The End of Days was Nigh. “I’m not that worried about meeting Lucius and Narcissa,”

“You should be, if you’re going to call them that.”

“Alright, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, then. I mean, they aren’t my favourite people, but I have met them before. I’m more concerned that the nutcase who designed this task expects me to introduce you to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.”

Malfoy slowly straightened, removing her elbows from the table and brushing imaginary crumbs from her robes. Her expression was suddenly very closed and austere.

“That is alright, Potter. I think I can manage to not show you up in front of your relatives too badly. I promise only to torture them a little. Nothing a minor _obliviate _won’t fix. I hear Granger's quite the expert on them.”

Harri stared at Draca, stunned. As a younger witch Harri would have already gone off at Draca for the barb about Hermione’s parents. But she was trying to learn self-control, so instead she swallowed and took a steadying breath, and said the first non-angry thing that came to her.

“Hermione’s not talking to me at the moment.”

Draca looked up, eyes still cool and sharp as flints, “Well, in that case, if you’re having to rely on your own merge magical resources, I’ll just tie them up and dance in front of them naked. Then they’ll wish that you could _obliviate _them, rather than forcing you to have to actually do it.”

Draca was being really weird. She had been almost pleasant for most of the morning, then all of a sudden they'd started talking about this ridiculous task and then… oh.

“Draca, I’m not worried about having to introduce you to my Aunt and Uncle.”

“Really? Because it certainly sounded like you had a problem with it about …”

“Draca!” Harry cut over her, frustrated, “this isn’t about you. I don’t care if you ‘show me up’ in front of the Dursleys. I mean, for starters, you won’t. God, they’ll probably love you. What with your posh accent and aristocratic arsiness, and, I dunno, general wealthiness. If you’re dressed in muggle clothes and don’t talk about magic too much, Aunt Petunia will think you’re great. And even if you did, they couldn’t possibly hate you more than…” Harri ran her hands through her hair, making it spike every which-way, “Draca, I’m worried about me. If I have to introduce you to my Aunt and Uncle then I have to talk to them and I haven’t. Not for years. Not since I stopped living with them a few days before my seventeenth birthday.”

Harri looked up. Draca was staring at her, with a stunned lost-for-words expression that didn’t suit her face. Draca was many things, but she was rarely stunned, and she was never lost for words.

“Really?” she said eventually, “you haven’t spoken, not since the war?”

“It it’s any consolation, we tried pretty hard not to talk to each other before the war, too.” Harri shrugged.

“And you’re not embarrassed… I mean, you don’t think they’ll be angry…” Draca swallowed, “you think they might not hate me? Even though…”

“Yeah, I mean, not worse than any other witches or wizards they’ve met. The Dursleys were never very fond of magic.”

“But I’m, I was…”

“They won’t know what side of the war you were on, if that’s your worry. Not if you don’t tell them - I certainly won’t.”

“Oh, right. Ah, so you never mentioned me, you know, when we both were still at school?” Draca looked oddly crestfallen about this.

Harri laughed, “Malfoy, if I ever talked about Hogwarts my Aunt and Uncle yelled at me and locked me in my room for the rest of the week. You were one of the many things I never mentioned about my life in the wizarding world.”

“Oh, right.” Draca still looked a bit shaken. She pushed her breakfast things away almost untouched and stood, “I better go and make my toilet then.”

“Your what?”

Draca gave Harri a funny look, “make my toilet. I am hardly going out to a muggle shop dressed like this,” Draca glanced at her pyjamas, “and I need to fix my hair and, I don’t know, cast a few glamor charms or something.”

“Er… right.” Harri rubbed her nose to try and hide her laughter.

“You might need to as well,” Draca added, looking Harri’s robes up and down. “Unless you want to go into a muggle shop looking like,” she gestured towards Harri’s general very wizarding attire. 

“True,” said Harri with a grin, “I’ll get changed in a bit. I’ll just finish off here first. See you in about twenty minutes, OK?”

“Alright.” Draca nodded and moved away still a little awkwardly. Looked like the two of them were in for an interesting day.

o-O-o

“Potter, have you gone completely mental? We are _not _shopping there.”

Harri looked up at the multi-story clothing department store they were standing in front of on Princes Street in Edinburgh.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” she said, frowning.

“It’s an H&M,” said Draca, distaste dripping from her every syllable. 

“Er, yes,” said Harri, nonplussed, “H&M is a muggle clothing shop, and we’re looking for muggle clothes so…” Harri shot Draca a sidelong glance. She was still looking unimpressed. “I mean, we could always go to _Top Shop_ next door, if you would rather.”

“Harri,” said Draca in a very long-suffering tone, “H&M and _Top Shop_ are high street muggle clothing stores. You are introducing me to your estranged relations; I don’t want to look like some kind of street urchin. We need to shop somewhere with significantly better style.”

“Er…” said Harri, trying desperately to think of somewhere Aunt Petunia might approve of that sold clothing appropriate for people aged under fifty, “We could probably find a _Marks and Spencer’s_, if you like…”

“Harriet Potter, you really are hopeless,” said Draca with a sniff. “Do I honestly have to organise this step of the task as well? You are very lucky you’re teamed up with me you know. It’s not every pureblood witch who could manage it.” Draca gave Harri an appraising look that took in her unfashionably distressed jeans and grey hooded sweater. “You’re going to have to buy something as well, you do realise. There’s no possible way you can wear that.”

Harri choked, and was going to point out that when Aunt Petunia had dressed her, she had worn second-hand boys clothes that were several sizes too large. However, Malfoy, who hadn’t waited for her to respond, was still talking:

“It’s a shame we had so little notice,” she said, scanning the crowds of tourists and shoppers meandering along the street in every direction, “Muggle tailors are so slow. Never bother, I’m sure I can work out something. Oh, she looks likely.” With that she was off, purposefully weaving her way through the crowd. Harri hung back and watched. Malfoy had stopped to question a sharply dressed muggle woman in her mid-twenties and was conducting an animated and friendly conversation that included many hand gestures. Draca was dressed in blue jeans (non-distressed) and a neat navy and white linen-knit jumper. Not only did she look impeccably muggle, she was also talking to a complete muggle stranger in way that oozed confidence and amicability. It made Harri’s breath catch and was doing funny things to her insides. Draca, who somehow had learned what high street fashion was and that tailored clothing took a long time for muggles to make. When had this happened? Draca appeared to be thanking the muggle stranger and drawing the conversation to a close. As the woman continued on her way, Draca waved to Harri, indicating that she should join her. 

“We’re lucky. There’s a suitable place quite close to here. We should probably walk - apparition is tricky with this many people around.”

o-O-o

Harry sipped her tea peaceably in a small Surry cafe, one ankle resting lazily on her knee, waiting for Draca to fix her hair and makeup in the Ladies. They had decided to come here before storming into the breach that was Dinner with the Dursleys. There was an urgent need to recoup after having spent over an hour and a half attempting to make polite small talk with Mr and Mrs Malfoy over a very fancy, and not at all palatable, luncheon. (Harri would have called it afternoon tea, as it had started at two in the afternoon. But apparently this was merely fashionably late, and luncheon it was, nevertheless.) 

The day had gone alright really, all things considered. OK, Draca had forced her to by new muggle clothes and frog marched her into Madam Malkin’s afterwards, despite them having to make several different apparitions in order to get to Diagon Alley from Scotland, as it was the only wizarding taylors Draca would deign to visit. Apparently, this had less to do with the quality of the clothing than it had to do with Draca’s guilt at the way the Malfoys and treated Madam Malkin during the war. (Harri kind of wished the Malfoy’s had been considerate enough to bad mouth and generally abuse a wizarding tailor who lived a little closer to Hogwarts. There were taylors in Hogsmeade that were quite nice - Narcissa and Lucius have could picked fights with them, no trouble.) But even the clothes shopping had been bearable, despite Draca refusing to let Harri give Madam Malkin any instructions about the dress robes, as she insisted that Harri didn’t know the first thing about formal attire. Harri suspected this was partly punishment for having put her foot down earlier and insisting on buying a trouser-suit at the up-market muggle clothing store, rather than the dress Draca favoured. Harri did would do it again, too. After all, it was her money, and the trouser-suit made her look suave, even if Draca thought it didn’t do anything for her figure (_‘For goodness sake Potter, you’re fortunate enough to have boobs and hips, you could at least have the grace to flaunt them. Think of the rest of us for a change.’_) 

Draca had emerged from the loos. She was wearing a silky red 20’s style dress that flattered her tall, slight figure (_‘I could wear a suit, Harri, I don’t have boobs or hips. But suits on you are a crime against humanity_’). She also sported elbow length black gloves and a stole. Who in their right mind wore a stole in this day and age? At least it wasn’t fur. 

“Are you really going to dinner looking like that?” Draca had the glint of battle in her eyes as she leaned against the table and looked Harri up and down with undisguised distaste. 

“Yep,” said Harri, not moving and continuing to sip her tea.

“But your complexion is all blotchy.”

“Why thank you, how kind of you to point it out.”

“And you’re not wearing lipstick or eye-shadow, or mascara or, or…” Draca waved one hand exasperatedly, “or _eyeliner _or anything. Muggle women wear makeup Harri, pay attention. Do I have to teach you everything about your own culture?”

Harri moved so both her feet were on the ground again and placed her teacup on the table.

“I know that many muggle women wear makeup, Draca,” she said evenly, “but not _all _do. Also, I’m a witch and I don’t like wearing makeup. So I’m not going to.”

“Does your Aunt?” Draca shot at her, short and vicious, like a punch.

“Yes.” Harri leaned back in her chair and smiled.

“But then… won’t she expect…?” Draca made another broad gesture with her arm that seemed to encapsulate the dissatisfaction and confusion she was too frustrated to clearly articulate. 

“I’m not wearing makeup to please my Aunt, Draca. It wouldn’t help anyway. She would just look for something else to criticise.” 

Draca slumped into the chair opposite Harri, looking the epitome of disgruntlement. 

“I will never understand you, Potter. I swear.”

Harri shrugged. “How come _you _know about muggle fashion and makeup, anyway?”

“From an earnest desire to outshine you in all areas of life, obviously,” said Draca, cuttingly. “However, if I had realised how easy it was going to be, I would have tried a little less hard. Are you sure you were really brought up by the non-magical fuckers?”

Harri rolled her eyes and ignored the barb. “Draca, I wasn’t trying to wind you up. I was just interested that you knew so much - it didn’t seem to be the kind of thing you would be particularly keen on…”

“Because I’m backward, bigoted Death Eater scum that…” 

Harri raised a hand, “Draca! I never said that. Damn it, I never even _thought _that. I was just trying to… you know what. Forget it. I’m sorry, alright. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can we please just pretend I didn’t say anything?”

Draca scowled and crumbled bits off the edges of a scone she had been eating earlier.

“Would you like some more tea?” Harri offered, tentatively.

“No, that’s quite alright, thank you,” said Draca and then poured herself another cup. Harri rocked back in her chair, sighing and rubbing her hand over her eyes. She didn’t have the energy for this. 

“I learned it in the RJ Programme I did last year,” said Draca, quietly.

“Pardon?” said Harri, eyes snapping open. “The what?”

“The RJ Programme,” said Draca slowly, looking at Harri as though she had grown two heads. “As in, Restorative Justice,” Draca continued as Harri still looked blank, “surely you’ve heard…? I mean muggles invented it, I would have thought… Do you know nothing about your mother’s culture, Potter?”

Harri winced, “I know loads about muggles, thanks,” she said defensively, “just not… not that. OK?”

“Well then,” said Draca sipping her tea, “ for your information, Potter, Restorative Justice is a form of punishment, or maybe discipline is a better word, that aims to make the perpetrator of a crime take some measure of accountability for the harm caused by their criminal actions. It first started being used in Britain by the muggle police to tackle youth crime in the eighties. After the end of the war, the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle Government decided to team up and design a special programme for magical youth who had been involved with supporting the Dark Lord, as an alternative to sending a large number of teenagers off to Azkaban. Use of Unforgivable Curses had become common practice at Hogwarts during the Carrows’ guardianship, among other distasteful practices, so there were quite a few of us, you see. We had to meet with victims and their families, both magical and muggle, and we had to take part in a rehabilitation programme.” Draca swirled the tea in the bottom of her cup, carefully not looking at Harri. “As part of the programme I worked with muggles who had lost family members in the war. They didn’t know the full extent of what had happened, obviously. They thought their loved ones had died in bombings, or aeroplane crashes, or some form of freak accident. But the holes left in their lives were… palpable.” Draca swallowed, although she was still examining her tea rather than drinking it. 

“How long did the rehabilitation programme last?” Harri asked tightly, mostly as something to break the awkward silence. This was all a lot to take in and her emotions about it were conflicted. 

“The programme only officially finished at Easter. I worked with the families most Saturdays while we were at school in Eight Year, and for extended periods during school breaks. I still do as a matter of fact, even now. I asked to stay on in a voluntary capacity after everything finished… I find it… helps.”

“It helps?” said Harri, nonplussed. 

“Yes, Potter. It helps,” said Draca snarkily. “Is it so hard to imagine that I might want to help other people? That it might benefit me as well as them? That it might make me feel less of a scumbag and more of a human being?” Draca took a shuddering breath, looking away. “Merlin and Morgana help me, both. Did it never occur to you that I might need help coming to terms with my own idiocy and feeble lack of judgement? That working with people who have lost loved ones might help me to grieve myself, for everyone and everything I lost? The side of the light weren’t the only ones to suffer casualties during the Godforsaken war.” Draca stood abruptly, slamming her still half-full cup onto the table. “So anyway Potter. That’s how I know about H&M and eyeliner. Happy now, are we? I’m going outside for a minute so I can pretend to smoke. Don’t follow me.”

o-O-o

“Right,” said Harri, bracingly. They were standing outside the Muggle restaurant that Harri had bribe-come-threatened the Dursleys to meet them at. Draca, relievingly, had mostly recovered from her strop and the two of them were back on speaking terms. “If anyone asks, we met through work, OK?”

Draca raised an eyebrow menacingly, “So they don’t know we went to school together?”

Harri started, “Shit, sorry. I really didn’t mean it like that. Mostly so they don’t think you went to school the Dursley’s told everyone I was at,” she said, touching Draca’s elbow lightly to add sincerity to the apology, “Unless you want people to think you went to _St Gertrude's Secure Institute for Incurably Criminal Girls_. I mean, it’s fine with me if you do.” She gave Draca a wicked grin. 

“_St Gertrude’s_ what?” said Draca, taken aback. 

“_Institute for Incurably Criminal Girls_. It’s where the Dursleys told everyone around here that they sent me, so they didn’t know I went to Hogwarts.”

“Ah, I might give that one a pass, now you mention it. Should I tell them I went to Eton instead?”

“What?!” Harri balked.

“Don’t look like that, Potter. It’s a Muggle school. Finch-Fletchly was going to go to it before being accepted to Hogwarts, he seemed to be under the impression it was quite good.”

“Don’t you think you should pick a school with less Royal family in attendance?” 

“Did the Muggle Queen go to Eton? How wonderful. Whoever would have thought being within earshot of Finch-Fletchly ever would be good for anything.” 

“I don’t know about the Queen. However, I’m fairly sure her most famous grandsons both attended.”

Draca waved a hand airily, “Queens, Princes, whatever. Muggles aristocrats are all much the same. You wouldn’t know, Potter - You weren’t best friends with any of them. You couldn’t have been, as you were attending St Thingamies.” 

“Malfoy, if you for as much as one instant try to pretend you are best buddies with any member of the Royal Family, however obscure, it will nauseate me so intensely that I will be forced to vomit immediately all over both of your shoes. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Promises, promises, Potter. Now, are we going to go inside this establishment at any point, or do you intent to leave us standing on the doorstep for the rest of time?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Draca, what the Fuck?”

They were standing outside the Hogs Head in the half-light, twilight still bleeding into darkness despite the late hour, thanks to Scotland being next-door to the bloody North Pole. Harri was clinging to Draca, who had just apparated them both here. 

“You honestly lived with those two wizard-hating bigots for sixteen years and _still _sided with Dumbledore in the war? You’re so fucking saintly, Potter, I hate you.”

Harri let go of Draca and shook her head, as though trying to orientate herself. “Draca, you just made an excuse to talk to me in the loos and next thing we’re in Hogsmeade.” 

“We had to go. It was a necessary safety precaution. Do your Aunt and Uncle always talk about you like you’re not in the room, or was that just for my benefit?”

“We didn’t even have dessert. What do you mean it was a safety precaution?”

“If we had stayed longer, I would have been forced to hex someone.”

“Fuck.” Harri ran her hand through her hair, “We have to go back.”

“Have you left something at the restaurant? I have your coat. I thought the rest of your stuff was in your handbag.”

“I didn’t pay. I told the Dursleys I’d pay for dinner; it was part of the agreement.”

“Harri,” Draca put her hands on Harri’s shoulders, “Do you have all your things?”

“Yes,” said Harri, stilling. 

“Then we’re going back to the castle. The Dursleys can pay for the meal; they’re the ones still at the restaurant, it’s their problem.”

“But…”

“No. No buts. After how they behaved tonight it’s the least they can do.”

“That’s just the Dursleys, I knew they would be like that. I need to go back.” 

“Harri, they referred to you as abnormal several times to your face, tried to hide that they were sitting at the same table as us, flinched every time you spoke to them, and they basically warned me off associating with you. I never thought I would say this, but you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“But I promised.”

“Merlin.” Draca let go and looked away. “If your word means so much to you, then pay them back. We can arrange it tomorrow, but stay her with me. I can’t stand for you to go back and be kind to those tossers.”

Shit. Harri had not seen that coming. OK, Draca was hardly the first wizarding person to be shocked that the Dursleys treated Harri like she had purposely contracted something both repulsive and highly contagious in order to piss them off, but it was still surprising that Malfoy had reacted so vehemently. Harri would never have pinned her as someone who would care how poorly Harri was treated by her relations, even in Malfoy’s new Post-Restorative-Justice Muggle-loving reincarnation. 

“Alright,” said Harri caving. She rested a hand on Draca’s arm lightly, “but you have to help me talk to Gringotts, I have no idea how to do a bank transfer.”

Draca looked up at her and made an odd move with her hand. For a moment Harri thought Draca was going to touch her face and her breath caught, heart lurching weirdly in a way that was disconcerting but not unpleasant. But, whatever Draca had been going to do, she thought better of it, letting her hand drop by her side.

“I know someone at Gringotts who can help, I can talk to them,” she said, looking down. “We better get back now, though. Shall we take the Hogs Head floo again?”

“Sure,” said Harri, with a half-smile, “lead the way.”

That should have been the end of the evening. Maybe it even would have been, if Malfoy had managed to navigate the floo successfully in high heels. There are many reasons why witches favour sensible footwear, but regularly having to tromp around in hearth embers features high on the list. Harri had just stepped into Gryffindor Common Room and was brushing ash off her suit, when Draca spun into the green flames in the hearth. As normal when travelling by floo, Malfoy went to steady herself before stepping into the room, but in doing so she put her foot through a large log that had been smouldering so long it was mostly embers, and fell, face first, into the room. Harri caught her. She didn’t think about it, she just moved on instinct, so the side effect of having Draca cradled in her arms, body pressed hard against her, came as a surprise. 

Even with her full weight against Harri, Malfoy felt slight - all angular, boney and insubstantial - the curves of her breasts and torso pressed tight against Harri’s own. Draca gasped, and then stilled in Harri’s arms as though stunned, holding her breath. Then she relaxed, moving her head incrementally so that rested in the crook of Harri’s neck, face pressed lightly against the thin skin where Harri’s shoulder merged into her throat, her hair brushing Harri’s nose and mouth. Draca smelled of Christmas spices, citrus and orange blossom. Harri’s heart lurched hard against her ribs, as though it was trying to escape. It winded her, she couldn’t breathe. Gently, Draca took her weight back onto her feet and slowly straightened, one arm wrapped around Harri’s waist, so close Harri could feel Draca’s breath graze across the downy hairs of her cheek. Draca looked at Harri, her expression soft and open, lips slightly parted and Harri kissed her, as though she had always meant to, as though she knew that Draca wanted to be kissed. But really Harri had no idea, she had moved on instinct without fully engaging her brian. Fortunately, Draca wanted to be kissed. She moved into it, catching Harri’s mouth gently, all soft lips and tenderness, and then deeper, hungrily, mouth open, sucking, hands snaking down Harri’s sides, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. Harri gasped, one leg between Draca’s, knee snug against her inner thigh, Harri manoeuvred them so they fell into one of the enormous, squishy armchairs. Harri straddled Malfoy, so that she was half-kneeling sitting in Draca’s lap, knees either side of Draca’s hips, calves sandwiched between her thighs and the arms of the chair. Draca moaned, kissing her deeply, drawing her closer, stroking her hands along Harri’s arms and back. Harri made a little, guttural, needy sounds, and rocked in towards her, pressing her hips into Draca’s, almost grinding against her. Draca cupped her hand around Harri’s jaw - Draca was trebling. The shock of this made Harri pause long enough for her brain to re-engage. This was an amazingly stupid thing to do. Harri was basically dry-humping Malfoy and neither of them had really thought about it, let alone discussed it. They were colleagues and roommates and would have to continue to live in close courters for the rest of the month and work together at the Ministry for far longer than that. Being ex-enemies was bad enough, without having to deal with awkward not-properly-thought through shags that they both then lived to regret. Then an even more awful thought occurred to Harri. She didn’t actually know if Draca wanted to be dry-humped. Shit. Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls and Cassandra’s perky tits, this was very, very bad. Harri promptly pulled back from Draca, so that their torsos were no longer touching, giving Draca a searching look.

“Er… Draca, are you OK?... I mean, is this… er… I can sit somewhere else if you want…” 

Draca stared at her, incredulously. 

“It’s just, you’re shaking…” Harri continued, nervously, “and, um, I guess I’m being, er, rather forward…”

Draca laughed, a dry high-pitched titter, “Merlin, Harriet. I can’t believe you - you honestly think I would just let you…” Malfoy gestured to how Harri was sitting, “...if I wasn’t enjoying it?” She snorted and shook her head. 

“Yeah, actually,” said Harri, blushing, “I mean, I thought you were enjoying it, but I might have been misreading the situation. I never asked before climbing on you and I should have - non-consensual dry humping isn’t OK.” Harri swallowed and forced herself to look at Draca, “I would hate to do anything to you that you didn’t want me to do.”

“Oh,” said Draca, very quietly, her expression suddenly soft; she looked an odd mix of shocked and very, very tender.

“That’s alright Harri, you can dry hump me if you want to. I give you my consent.” Draca ran a hand up along Harri’s shoulder and cupped her neck, drawing her close so Draca could leaned in and whisper in her ear “I’ll consent to more than that, if you would like. I’m trembling, Potter, because I want you,” she breathed, “I want you terribly. I want you to touch me, to kiss me, to rut against me; I want you to take off all my clothes and bite my nipples; I want you to put your fingers inside me and pump me till I squeal. Believe me, you can be as forward as you like, I have no objections.” Draca licked up the side of Harri’s neck and kissed her behind the ear. Harri moaned. Her groin was hot and pulsing with arousal, her nipples ached, and her breath shuddered, fast, heavy, and uneven.

“How long have you felt like that?” Harri whispered.

“Long enough,” said Draca, kissing her throat and neck, “just that before today, I never thought that I might actually get you.”

There wasn’t really anything to say to that. Instead, Harri ran her hands through Draca’s hair and leaned longingly into her embrace. “Bed?” she breathed.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

Harri and Draca stumbled into their dorm room, shedding clothes that they left crumpled in little heaps on the floor. When she had stripped to just bras and undies, Harri climbed onto her four-poster, with Draca following close behind. Kneeling, Harri hugged her, wrapping her arms under Draca’s, who was slightly taller than Harri, and burying her face into the nook of her neck. Harri closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet, sweat, human smell of her and revelled in the soft, smooth, warm feeling of bare skin against bare skin; there was something insanely intimate about being allowed to hold Draca like this. Draca hugged Harri back, resting her face against Harri’s hair, her breath tickling the short neck-hairs just below Harri’s ear. They stayed like that for a minute, before Draca pulled her over, so they fell together in a tangle of arms and legs over the blankets - giggling and kissing and stroking hands over their arms, backs, hair, neck, throat and faces. 

Harri kissed a line down Draca’s throat, circling one of her nipples with the pad of her thumb, it was small and erect, skin dimpling in arousal under Harri’s fingers. Draca moaned and panted. Harri reached the V between Draca’s clavicles, pausing there to kiss the point where shoulder girdle met upper chest, she ran her lips and tongue over the little bumps made by Draca’s ribs, dragging her tongue over the small flat plane of her sternum. Any lower and Harri would have her face and mouth on Draca’s breasts - she looked up, Draca’s eyes were closed and her face was screwed up.

“Is this OK?” Harri checked.

“Yes, very.”

“Is there anything you would like me to do?”

Draca shook her head, eyes still shut.

“OK. I’m going to kiss your breasts now, if that’s alright. I can touch your clit, too, if you would like.”

“Sounds grand.”

Harri laughed, ducking her head to plant a soft, dry kiss in the dip between Draca’s boobs. She knelt, scrambling for her wand - she was half-blind without her glasses.

“What are you doing?” Draca was looking down at her now, nonplussed and a bit miffed that Harri had stopped touching her.

“Protective spells. Or I will be, as soon as I find my wand.”

“Oh, right.” Draca stroked Harri’s bare shoulder blade, turning slightly and picking something up from the bedside table. She passed it to Harri, it was Harri’s wand.

“Thanks,” said Harri, with a grin, wordlessly casting the protective spells on their genitals and over hers and Draca’s hands, to ensure there was no exchange of bodily fluids, germs or general dirt. She had washed her hands and had painfully short nails, but UTIs were no joke. Better safe than sorry. 

Harri nuzzled Draca’s breast and lightly stroked the skin just below her bellybutton. Draca hummed appreciatively, turning into the touch and running her fingers through Harri’s hair. Harri kissed the soft, white, tissue-thin skin of Draca’s right boob, working her way, open-mouthed towards the nipple. The hand on Draca’s stomach worked lower, carding the pubes on her mons. Harri’s tongue flicked deftly over Draca’s nipple at the same time her fingers slipped between the neat V where her right and left labia met. Draca gasped and arched beneath her, grabbing her shoulders so tightly it hurt. Harri sucked on Draca’s nipple, pinching it between lip-covered teeth. With her hand, she pressed deeper into the slick, silky heat of Draca’s vulva, dipping her fingers down right to the opening of her vagina in one long slow slide. Harri didn’t enter her, not yet, instead she stroked the wetness she found around the opening, spreading it higher and lubricating the delicate pleats of skin around Draca’s clit, until Draca’s whole vulva was slick with the wetness caused by her own arousal. Draca writhed and made a high-pitched whining, guttural sound. She grasped headboard of the bed, straining to keep herself still under Harri’s touch. Her body stretched out under Harri was beautiful. Harri lifted herself slightly, winding one of her legs through Draca’s so that she could pin her to the bed, and planting the base of her palm solidly on Draca’s mons so she could hold her down while still stroking the skin around her clit. Harri licked and sucked Draca’s breast, working more of it into her mouth, while setting up a slow, circular, rhythmic massage of Draca’s inner lips and, all going well, the hood of skin covering her clit. Draca was starting to fall apart, panting and crying out, long beautiful wordless screams. Harri started on her other breast, and Draca came, jerking and crying. It was the most beautiful thing Harri thought she had ever seen - Draca pink and writhing, incoherent with the ecstasy of orgasm. Harri held her through it, slowing what she was doing, but not stopping until Draca stilled. Then she kissed her, held her shaking body close and cradled her, whispering sweet nothings. Twisted together like that they fell asleep. 


End file.
